XMen: The MovieDark Angel Crossover
by pari106
Summary: From One Cage to Another": A crossover between Dark Angel (Alec) and X-Men: THe Movie (LoganWolverine).
1. Default Chapter

From One Cage to Another  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to FOX, Cameron, Eglee…X-Men belongs to…whoever it belongs to.   
Not me.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Code: Crossover: Dark Angel (Alec) and X-Men (Logan/Wolverine)  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I was inspired to write this by the many comments that the beginning scene of Dark Angel's   
"Proof of Purchase" was taken from the scene in X-Men where Wolverine is fighting for money. I have no   
knowledge of X-Men…I've seen the movie and loved it, but that's the beginning and end of my credentials   
as far as that goes. Still, I tried to write Logan. I hope I did okay. Please let me know what you think!  
  
A/A/N: For those of you who don't know both shows, this story is set in the Dark Angel universe. It's the   
year 2020 in America, which is now a third-world country. A Y2K-ish event, called the Pulse, sent the   
States into a depression, and we're still there. Max and Alec are X5s – soldiers who were genetically   
engineered using animal DNA to achieve "perfection". Max escaped as a child, and later brought down the   
secret government organization that created them – Manticore. Now NSA agents are hunting them and all   
the others like them, trying to exterminate them before the general public can learn of their existence. (And   
just so you don't get confused: Alec is also sometimes referred to as 494; Max as 452).  
  
As for Logan…his type are called, simply, mutants. They are born with their special abilities. Or, at least,   
most of them are. That may or may not be the case with Logan, as you know from the movie if you've   
seen it. This story is set after DA's "Proof of Purchase", but before the X-Men movie. So Logan has no   
recollection of his past or where he comes from; how he became the way he is. I've taken the characters   
from the X-men movie (same age and everything) and thrown them into the DA world (although Logan is   
the only you'll actually see). In this story, I assume real mutants have always existed, Manticore and the   
NSA just never knew about them…or we've just never seen them deal with them.   
  
So…go on and read and review already! And if anything else confuses you, just let me know.  
  
  
  
  
  
Logan wandered the dark, dirty streets of Seattle, wondering what he was doing here.  
  
'Here's as good a place as any,' he reminded himself. Another day – another uphill struggle to survive.   
Another cold, hard city full of cold, hard, nameless people just trying to get by like he was. Well…  
  
Maybe not *exactly* like he was.  
  
The majority of the American populace didn't have to watch their backs every moment, fearing exposure   
for who they are; what they are. Logan was mutant. He went from city to city – from truckstop to bar to   
truckstop. Travelling at night to lessen the chance of detection; washing dishes or bare-knuckle fighting for   
a meal or gas money.  
  
It looked like tonight would be more of the same. Logan's truck had gone empty just outside the city   
limits, and he didn't have a dime on him. He also didn't have a great enthusiasm for either dishwashing or   
fighting. He was weary. He'd been driving all night, he hadn't eaten in two days; he was hungry and tired.   
Tired of always moving; tired of always fighting. Tired of not knowing where he came from or where he   
was going; knowing only what he was and that he could not let this secret be revealed.  
  
But, tired or not, the world wasn't going to stop just because he said so. He wasn't going to earn gas   
money or a good meal by lamenting his lot in life. So when Logan came across the dingy little bar, he   
hesitated only a moment before going in. The sign outside advertised "Bare-knuckle fighting; amateurs   
welcome." Well, he was no amateur…but they didn't have to know that. And the sign said the night's   
event was a last man standing competition. The prize? Five hundred dollars. Not exactly fair pay for a   
whole night's fight. But in this time and place, money was money, and "fair" wasn't a word many people   
remembered the meaning of. So Logan couldn't complain.  
  
  
He only wondered where he should sign up.  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
The sound of a man's fist connecting with his opponent's face reverberated through the crowded bar.   
  
The onlookers cheered.  
  
And Alec let himself absorb the blow, going down on one knee for good measure.  
  
This was the tenth guy he'd fought tonight…eleventh? He couldn't make this look too easy. And that   
punch would have knocked the average man cold. But then, Alec was far from average. The Neanderthal   
in the cage with him wouldn't have lasted a second in real combat, if Alec hadn't wanted to put on a good   
show. As it was, Alec didn't want to rouse any of the crowd's suspicions. So he went down on his knee,   
letting the guy's blow hit its target. Then he let him hit him again.  
  
Alec swayed on his knees, but didn't topple. He even reached out behind him with one hand, grasping the   
chain link of the cage wall…just for effect. His left eye was nearly swollen shut…and his lip was   
bleeding…  
  
The Neanderthal hit him again. And again.  
  
On the fifth punch, Alec smiled. His face split in a wide, predatory grin.  
  
He was really going to enjoy bringing this guy down. The beating he was taking he didn't mind so much –   
they were both here for the money. But the guy's attitude was really starting to get on Alec's nerves.  
  
The man sneered down at him.  
  
"Had enough, son?" the Neanderthal spit at him through half a mouthful of crooked teeth.  
  
Son? Alec had never been any man's son.  
  
He rose to his feet, still smiling, blood dripping down his chin and staining his own, perfect teeth… He let   
his knees wobble a bit, to give the appearance that he was actually hurting.  
  
"Not yet," he told his opponent calmly.  
  
The man just shook his head, incredulously.  
  
"Alright…but you asked for it."  
  
He readied his right arm for another swing…intending to put this crazy kid out of his misery.  
  
And he never even saw Alec move.  
  
Then he was lying on his back, out cold. The crowd was going wild. Alec just stared down at the fallen   
man, face expressionless.  
  
'One more down,' he thought.  
  
Hopefully the other bozos out there would take the hint and stay out of the cage. Then he could take his   
money and get the hell out of there.   
  
"I'm taking ten," he told the ring manager, and strode out of the cage.  
  
He needed some time to clean up and heal in private. The last thing he needed was for someone to notice his regenerative capabilities. That was one of the things, he'd wager, that had gotten him into trouble the last time. One of the reasons he couldn't go back to Annie's bar, or any of the other haunts he'd fought in over the last month. After the performances he'd put on in each they no doubt expected him to be spending the next few weeks recuperating. He didn't want to give anyone the chance to expect otherwise.  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
The onlookers cheered.  
  
Logan paused on his way to the bar, his interest piqued by the crowd's fervor around him. He'd seen so   
many cage fights…had participated in so many…that he'd just as soon never look at one if he didn't have   
to. But he stopped now to watch the fight in progress.  
  
This one had drawn a crowd. Logan was used to people coming out in droves for things like this. In a   
world like theirs, where the Pulse had purged life of the finer luxuries, the chance for entertainment – of   
any kind, no matter how crude – was a treasure to many. But this pack was even larger than the norm, and   
whoever it was in that ring had them going wild.  
  
Logan found himself taking a detour – drawing nearer to the cage to see what all the fuss was about.  
  
He saw alright.  
  
He parted the crowd just in time to see a blonde kid – probably no more than 22 years old – fall to one   
knee.  
  
Logan shook his head.  
  
Jesus…this wasn't a fight. It was a tragedy. Half of the kid's face was swollen and bloodied. From what   
Logan could see of the rest of it, he was a good-lookin' guy. A pretty boy. All balls and no brains,   
apparently. He looked fit enough, but that monster he'd entered the cage with…  
  
That guy was at least six feet tall. Older – mid-sixties or so, but all muscle, with longish graying hair. His   
skin was tough and weathered and covered with tattoos. He had a face to frighten his own mother.  
  
Pretty boy had gone into the cage with that?  
  
And he wasn't even defending himself. Logan watched with a grimace as the man pounded his younger   
opponent twice, three times. The young man didn't even raise his fists. One blow hit him particularly hard   
and he fell back against the chain link behind him, fingers grasping for the cage wall. It was just the second   
round, and Logan thought it miraculous that that boy wasn't dead yet. He was almost tempted to run in   
there and pull the fool out before he met a bloody fate.  
  
The crowd was calling out from around the cage, and then Logan began to pick up on some of what was   
being said.  
  
"Fuck…that had to hurt," someone said. Similar remarks were flying around everywhere.  
  
"How many fights has that guy won already?" someone else asked.  
  
"Eleven," came the reply.  
  
"Crazy bastard!"  
  
When Logan heard this, he frowned and seconded the sentiment. That guy had beaten eleven men already,   
and he was still going strong? And the kid had *still* decided to try and take him on? He *was* crazy.   
Crazy and cocky…a very bad combination.  
  
That's when it happened.  
  
At first, Logan thought he was imagining it. But soon he realized this was not the case; he was not seeing   
things. He was smiling. That kid was smiling. He'd just received another bone-breaking blow when a   
wide grin slowly spread across his face.  
  
That grin froze Logan still. Something about it…  
  
"Had enough yet, son?" Logan heard the big guy sneer.  
  
The blonde kept smiling, then rose shakily to his feet. He wasn't shaking much, though, Logan realized.  
  
"Not quite," the young man stated calmly. His voice didn't even quaver.  
  
That's when Logan thought that maybe all was not as it seemed.  
  
"Alright…you asked for it," came the big guy's response.  
  
He never even saw the other man move.  
  
Hell, *Logan* hadn't seen him move. One minute, he was just standing there…Mr. Tattoos was getting   
ready to deliver "the blow"…and by the next, the mighty had fallen.  
  
The crowd went wild. Pretty boy had won.  
  
"Thinking of taking your chances," Logan suddenly heard a voice say behind him.  
  
He turned to see an old man standing next to him, arms crossed.  
  
"Maybe," Logan replied guardedly.  
  
The old man shook his head and whistled.  
  
"You probably don't want to do that," he said. "That kid's crazy."  
  
Logan had to smile at that. That seemed to be the general consensus around here.  
  
"That's the twelfth win in a row for him," the old man informed.  
  
Logan's eyes snapped to his at that. Twelfth… that was him those men had been talking about? *He* had   
beaten eleven men before this one?  
  
Logan looked back into the cage at the young man. There were bruises and there was plenty of blood. But   
the man stood tall…and his face was absolutely expressionless as he stared down at the man he'd just   
knocked out. He didn't even look winded.   
  
Logan suddenly got a very bad feeling about this.  
  
"Never seen him around," the old man was saying. "But he's been in a cage before, that's for damned   
sure." Neither he, nor Logan, realized the irony of his words. "Sure you want to go up against that one?"   
the old man asked again.  
  
Logan's expression was grim. What was it telling him that tonight's meal ticket wouldn't be as easy to   
obtain as usual?  
  
"Where do I sign up?" Logan asked.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Alec held his head under faucet, out back in what served as the bar's lockerroom. He kept his eyes open,   
and watched as the water washed the blood from his face and swirled down the drain…  
  
Just the way that transgen's blood had run down the gutter the night he'd killed her…  
  
Alec stared at the blood on his hands. There was always blood on his hands now, even when there was not.   
He wondered sometimes if his brother, Ben, had had the same problem. From the moment he'd first killed,   
the way they'd been trained, to the moment he'd died…neck snapped like a twig in some nameless woods   
somewhere…had Ben seen blood on his hands? Alec had ever since he'd cut that X6…  
  
Alec's eyes fluttered closed and he pulled his head out from under the faucet, resting his forehead against   
the mirror in front of him.  
  
What was he doing here?  
  
What was he accomplishing? He could fight for the rest of his life, and it wouldn't help him forget. It   
wouldn't wash the blood clean from his hands, it wouldn't wash his conscience clean. It wouldn't change   
the past. He'd come here to lose himself in physical exertion and pain, but it was a futile effort. He always   
found himself again, eventually. Unfortunately. His self was kind of persistent that way.  
  
Alec turned off the faucet, but stayed where he was, fists clenched on the sink's rim.  
  
What was he doing here? This was suicide. He should have left Seattle like Max had told him to do. It   
would only be a matter of time before that NSA bastard, White, caught up to him again if he stayed here.  
  
Maybe that's why he stayed here. Maybe he wanted capture. Maybe he wanted the same choice he'd been   
given before – the choice between remaining loyal to his kind, and saving himself. He wanted that choice.   
He wanted to choose correctly this time. He wanted redemption; to not have turned on those other soldiers.   
To not have turned on Max…  
  
Max.  
  
Alec finally opened his eyes again, pulling back to face his reflection and the ice-blue eyes that stared back   
at him there.  
  
Max. Alec's mind filled with images of dark hair and chocolate eyes…pouty lips. Why couldn't he stop   
thinking about her? How had she gotten so far under his skin? Was it just guilt? Lust? What the hell held   
him to her? Was it the fact that she was X5? That she'd been rogue like his brother? That she'd loved his   
brother? He'd seen that love in her eyes the day they'd first met.  
  
Was it the fact that she was capable of love? Whereas he'd only ever looked out for himself? They'd both   
been trained to kill, but she'd only ever done so in self-defense. He'd been an assassin. He'd done the   
things they'd been trained to do. He'd told her it was only his job, but now he wasn't so sure.  
  
Maybe killing was all he was good for. Maybe it was all he was meant to do. Maybe some sick part of him   
was just like Ben. Maybe he *liked* it.  
  
Why else had he made that deal with the devil…traded loyalty for survival? He'd killed that transgen for   
White, so that he could survive. But was it just survival? It was so easy killing that transgen; it had been   
so easy bringing that knife to the X6s throat…at first. He could have killed that X6. He could have…  
  
No.  
  
He didn't kill Max. '…I didn't kill her…' The thought was the only comfort Alec had left. He hadn't let   
himself sink that far. He didn't kill Max. It was the one good decision he'd made out of countless wrong   
ones. He wouldn't have killed her; he couldn't. He would have traded his life for hers. That was what   
he'd almost done, wasn't it? But Max hadn't allowed that. She hadn't let him die…  
  
"Hey, kid," a voice suddenly interrupted Alec's reverie. He turned to the man standing in the doorway.  
  
That was all they called him here; he didn't tell them anything else. He didn't give them the designation   
he'd once carried, or the name Max had given him…  
  
Alec remembered her smile when she'd named him; that cocky smile that had dared him to disagree.  
  
"I told you, my designation's 494," he'd said to her anyhow.  
  
"It doesn't suit you," she'd insisted. Then she'd thought for a moment. 'Alec' was what she'd come up   
with.  
  
"Alec?"  
  
"Yeah. As in 'smart alec'," she'd explained mischievously.  
  
Whatever. "I can live with that," he'd finally compromised.  
  
"Good," she'd told him. "Because my second choice was…"  
  
Well, nevermind. She hadn't liked him much then. Hell, she hated him now…  
  
Alec snapped himself back to the present.  
  
"Yeah?" he responded.  
  
"You're on in five," the man informed him, excitedly.  
  
Alec blinked. "You're kidding."  
  
The man just shrugged and grinned. Alec sighed. Fine.  
  
"I'll be out in four," he told the man, who nodded and slipped away.  
  
Time to get back to the futile effort of forgetting. 


	2. 2

From One Cage to Another  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc., found in Chapter One.  
  
A/N: Short…I know. But the fight is coming up in the next chapter. I'm not good at   
fight scenes. Any suggestions? Please review this.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Alec didn't hurry back to the cage right away; instead, he took a moment to study his new   
opponent, who'd already taken his place in the arena. This wasn't something a human   
would have been able to do…considering the distance between the locker room and the   
cage, the bad lighting, and the thick crowd. But with Alec's telescopic eyes none of this   
was a real problem.  
  
He watched the man he assumed he would fight next climb the ramp to the cage…  
  
"Oh, great…" Alec muttered.  
  
Another big guy. Where the fuck did they all come from? Alec sighed and rubbed his   
weary eyes. Gently. The swelling was already going down, but his face still felt like it   
had been run over by a humvee. If he and Neanderthal ever ran into one another in a   
back alley somewhere…  
  
Alec focused back in on his opponent. So the guy was big…he was also built better than   
any of the other men Alec had fought. He was all muscle and hard facial features…  
  
Then Alec noticed something about the man's behavior. "Well whaddaya know…" he   
smirked.  
  
For once, he was going up against a guy who didn't feel the need for theatrics before the   
fight. He didn't rabble rouse, he didn't brag…he just stood there. Waiting. Absolutely   
calm in the face of the hysterical crowd around him.  
  
Alec wondered if this were a good or a bad thing.  
  
He was tired of the show-offs he'd come up against so far. But this guy didn't just look   
calm…he looked tired. He didn't look particularly thrilled to be there. To be completely   
honest…he looked disgusted with the fight, the crowd, and everything remotely involved   
with it.  
  
"You and me both, buddy," Alec mumbled to himself, before slipping out of the locker   
room.  
  
He was tired of show-offs, but he didn't want to fight someone who wasn't going to give   
him a real challenge, either. Alec was tired…his face hurt…he just wanted a good bottle   
of whiskey and someplace to rest and to heal. But he didn't want an unfair fight.  
  
At this thought, Alec almost smiled. Almost. Up against him, any fight was an unfair   
fight.  
  
Too bad he didn't consider this a good thing.   
  
If it weren't for his superior genetics, he'd be dead several times over now. Pity about   
those superior genetics.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Logan waited in the cage, ignoring the rambunctious crowd around him. While his   
opponent was away they'd calmed down somewhat, but now their voices rang out again,   
louder than ever, telling Logan that said opponent was returning.  
  
He looked for him in the crowd…he was hard to miss, actually. The spectators parted   
before him as he made his way for the arena. At first, Logan had to look twice when he   
saw him…  
  
"What the…," he began to mutter under his breath before his words died away altogether.  
  
That *was* the kid he'd seen in the cage earlier…wasn't it?  
  
Logan saw the same blonde hair, the same strong build, the same blank expression…   
The one side of the young man's face was as it had been, but the other…the side that had   
been a mass of ugly bruises and swelling… The bruises remained. Some of the swelling,   
too. But not enough. Not nearly enough for having just left the cage no more than ten   
minutes ago…  
  
The feeling of unease that had begun to develop in the pit of Logan's stomach, ever since   
he'd seen that kid smile, now began to develop faster. Something was not right.  
  
But it was too late to do anything about it now.  
  
Logan's attention became divided as the fight announcer stepped into the ring, and   
directly into his line of vision, blocking his mysterious opponent from view.  
  
And considering the noise level in the bar, nothing the crowd did could be described as   
"quieting down". But they did get slightly less loud at this sign that the next fight was   
about to begin.  
  
Slightly.  
  
It was enough, though, for the announcer to be heard over the microphone someone   
dropped through the ceiling of the cage, introducing him by whatever arbitrary name he'd   
given and calling out the physical stats he'd guessed at. He received a few cheers, a few   
boos…a few catcalls from some of the female spectators (a fact that made him grin and   
shake his head). And then his opponent's introduction began.  
  
"…and weighing in at 177 pounds, and six feet tall…this is his thirteenth, that's right,   
ladies and gentlemen, his *thirteenth* consecutive competition. Give it up for your   
reigning champion!"  
  
The spectators roared. And then the reason for their fervor stepped around the announcer   
to Logan's side. He was actually a bit surprised… Up this close, the kid looked even   
*shorter* than he had fighting his last opponent.  
  
Then the young man was holding out a hand to him. Logan's eyebrow raised, but he   
shook the proffered hand firmly.  
  
"Good luck," his opponent told him.   
  
"You, too," he returned, smoothly.  
  
He wondered which one of them would need it.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the crowd…  
  
As Alec and Logan were sizing one another up, someone else was doing some measuring   
of his own.  
  
The man stood, still and quiet, on the edge of the rambunctious crowd surrounding the   
fight arena. Watching the two men in the cage with dark, perceptive eyes and a stomach   
that was slowly starting to settle. He wasn't nearly as nervous about this assignment as   
he might once have been; despite his discomfort with being this close to the filthy masses   
of Seattle's low-to-no-income populace. He'd come a long way since receiving a   
position in Seattle.  
  
And he had a long way to go.  
  
The man knew that his "boss", had he been there in the form of himself rather than a   
voice in an earpiece, wouldn't be cowering behind the large, scary-looking biker standing   
in front of him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that, at any moment, his reason for   
being there would turn a gaze in his direction and give him a very good reason to cower,   
indeed.  
  
"So, is that our boy?" the rough voice in his earpeice inquired.  
  
The tiniest shift of the eyes…the quickest glance to make sure no one was watching who   
might find his talking to "himself" peculiar…  
  
"That's definitely him, sir," the man replied. Not without a fair amount of awe and   
incredulity. Their prey had to be incredibly cocky to chose cage-fighting as his choice in   
past time; an activity that would make his unusual abilities stand out like a beacon to   
anyone who was looking for them. Especially after what had happened last time. Not   
that their quarry hadn't already proven himself to be adequately cocky for such a stunt…   
But he had to be fearless, as well. Or, as the man's superior had said time and time again,   
just plain stupid. Like all of his "kind".  
  
The voice, that of his superior, laughed, seeming to agree. "Excellent. Return to base,   
Otto. I'll lead the team to your location."  
  
Otto nodded sharply, even though he knew the gesture would go unseen.  
  
"Very good, sir." 


	3. 3

From One Cage to Another

by pari

Disclaimer, etc., found in Chapter One.

A/N: This fic lives. Who knew. Most of this was written a long time ago, and was just sitting on a disk in my desk waiting to be polished and completed. I'm not sure how I did on the polishing, but the chapter is complete, so that's something.

Chapter Three

The fight began.

Or it should have. Logan and Alec were used to the other man taking the first swing. So, in the cage together, they ended up each circling the other, waiting for an offense that never came. Till Alec finally shrugged and thought, "Fuck it." It was time to get the show on the road.

So he punched Logan. Not hard enough to knock him out…but enough to do a little damage. Get the fight going.

Only Logan didn't look too "damaged". In fact, his head whipped around when Alec hit him, but other than that he didn't seem effected at all. 'Well, this is new,' Alec got the chance to think. 

Right before Logan punched him back.

He'd been so surprised by *not* seeing his opponent at least stumble beneath his blow, that Alec let his guard down. For only a moment. A moment too long. When Logan's fist met his jaw, he went flying backwards, and landed face up on the cage floor. When his ears stopped ringing, Alec heard the crowd going wild.

Alec immediately sat up. "What the hell?" he asked aloud.

His opponent was standing over him, smiling. "What's wrong, kid? Head hurt?"

Alec frowned.

"Whoa ho ho…ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer was saying. "Could we be looking at a new champion here?" Alec could practically hear him smiling. He jumped to his feet.

'Not on your life, pal.' Okay, forget everything else. If this guy was still smiling after Alec's next punch, then something was definitely wrong.

Alec knocked away the hand Logan had offered to help him up.

"I'm fine," he ground out. 'Time for Round Two.' Even if it was still only Round One.

"I'm fine," the kid had said, and Logan couldn't help but grin, even through the soreness in his jaw; the surprise that said soreness even existed. The kid packed a punch, Logan would give him that. Not enough of a punch to take Logan down - which is what he suspected his opponent might have been trying to do. But it was a punch all the same.

With not bad stamina behind it. Logan usually let his opponents get a blow or two in before he took them down - for the sake of the show (which is really what the crowd wanted). Only he'd figured that pretty boy there could use a little humbling. Imagine his surprise when "pretty boy" turned out to be more than just a pretty face. Twelve wins or no - that blow had been hard enough to knock a man thrice Alec's size cold. At least the kid's lip was bleeding. And this time, Logan noted, he wasn't smiling through the pain.

Then Alec hit back. This time, with more might. The sound of the blow resonated through the crowded room and the crowd cheered loudly. Logan gingerly touched his now busted lip.

"Fuck!" he hissed under his breath as *then* Alec smiled. 

"*Your* head hurt?" he asked.

Logan's eyes narrowed.

And the fight *really* began.

**** ****

The sound of flesh hitting flesh, of blow after blow, filled the cage as the two men inside it danced around one another, dodging. Sometimes staggering from a punch, sometimes lunging to avoid one, sometimes lunging to administer one to the other.

The audience had already lost track of who was hitting who and who was being hit. Alec and Logan were at times almost a blur and exhausting even to watch. All anyone knew was that they'd never seen anything like it before and that they were unable to look away. Even if they still somehow managed to place their bets on the winner, should one ever arise. The pools were the largest they'd ever been.

"Where the hell did those two come from?" one spectator asked the other, partially in awe; partially in disgust. He'd lost a month's rent betting someone would go down in the fifth round. No one did.

"I don't know," replied his friend, around a cigarette. He shook his head. "The fight's fake. It's gotta be. The whole prize money thing musta been a gimmick."

The other man nodded, angrily.

Then the cage shuddered as Alec slammed into it, grabbing the chain link for support. He wasn't acting this time around, and his knees threatened to buckle. He'd never been hit so hard in his life, he was certain of it, and pain radiated throughout his chest from its source - the two broken ribs in his right side.

What the fuck was going on?

All other concerns had faded. The need for exertion, for money… The fight wasn't about any of that anymore. It wasn't even about pride at that point. It was about proving his own sanity. No way that guy could be winning. *Winning*. Against Alec. 'Against me,' Alec pondered. No way.

He wasn't X5 - he was too old for that. And Alec had already considered the fact that he might be. That was the only explanation Alec could come up with for his opponent's strength and stamina. If anything, he could be X4 or X3- but Alec knew for a fact that none of those series were around anymore… Right? So the man had to be human. Didn't he?

And Alec could prove it. If he could win. But his chances of doing so seemed ever more and more unlikely. Perhaps if he dodged every single blow the man had to give… Which is what Alec had been trying to do. And for the most part he'd succeeded. Except for a punch here or there. Except for too many punches here or there…

If this guy wasn't X4, then what the hell was he?

If this kid didn't go down *fast*…then what the hell was he? What the hell was he going to do, that is.

Logan stood - somehow - fists at the ready. He could barely feel them anymore, his arms ached so badly from holding them in place. And he tried to make his words, when he was able to speak, sound less breathless than he knew himself to be.

"Had enough yet, kid?" 

It was the exact same thing Alec's last opponent had asked him…right before he'd kissed the floor. But Logan didn't care. He didn't care much about anything, just so long as Alec hit the same floor. Or sat on it. Or walked away. Logan didn't care. Just so long as something, somehow kept him from having to follow Alec across the cage one more time. He'd never been so exhausted in all his life, he was certain of it. His lungs ached as though he'd been underwater for the duration of the fight. And he'd never swung so hard, for so long, in a competitive match before. Yet Alec never went down. He took the blows satisfyingly *not* well…but he didn't go down like Logan practically prayed for him to do. He was fast. *Too* fast. Almost a blur at times, and Logan had no idea whether it was because the kid was really *that* fast or if he was just *that* tired. He only knew that the fight had gone from being something to do for money to something else. Pride, maybe? And the validation of his own sanity? No one could be that fast. No one could beat him in the cage. No one human anyhow… No one. 

'No way am I going home hungry after all this,' Logan thought to himself. Even if he hurt too badly to eat tonight anyhow.

Alec didn't even respond. He just jumped right back into the fight.

'Hungry' was starting to look like a pretty nice place to be about then.

**** ****

Caught up in the action going on inside the cage inside the bar, neither Alec nor Logan had any idea about the action simultaneously occurring *outside* the bar. The dark vans that had arrived, screeching to a halt in front of the building, then carefully pulling into an alley, out of sight. 

However, Agent Walker was aware of all this, of course. Walker, Otto, took a quick glance around him before heading for the alley where his fellow operatives were parked. He nodded at the man that stepped away from the others, all of them nearly indistinguishable in their dark uniforms, helmets, and shields. The man met his approach. 

"Ready to go?" Otto asked him.

"Ready as we're gonna be, sir," the man replied. Otto nodded.

"Then you know what to do. Tell your men to keep things simple. Get in, grab the target, and get out." Just as the man was about to walk away, nodding, Otto added - almost as an afterthought, or as if he wasn't happy with what he was about to say: "Oh...and be careful. We have visual confirmation that 494 is in the building with him."

The other man visibly started. "494? Isn't he..."

Otto resisted the urge to sigh. "He was supposed to be. Obviously he isn't, otherwise I wouldn't be mentioning him."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Just proceed with the mission as planned. Watch yourself, watch your men. But do not, under any circumstances, open fire. White wants us to bring 494 in alive. He'll be arriving shortly with an auxiliary unit to facilitate 494's capture. Concentrate on your own target, and we'll concentrate on ours."

"Yes, sir."

**** ****

"So...I was thinking, you know, you could help a guy out and fake it or something. Come on... I'll even split the pot with you."

Logan and Alec continued to circle one another. Logan tried to focus on what the other man was saying. From somewhere the little shit had gotten a second wind, and was trying to carry on a conversation as if they were talking over lunch. 

"Don't you ever shut up?" he grumbled, breathlessly. The split in each lip that formed Alec's grin was some small comfort, at least. To Logan.

Alec winced even as he smiled. "Why? Getting sleepy, old man? It's about past your bedtime, isn't it?"

Alec usually didn't resort to cheap shots like that one, but figured his opponent could use the motivation of a nice insult or two. Or maybe he was the one who needed a little extra motivation, despite the fact that those nifty X5 regenerative capabilities of his were starting to kick in. His ribs no longer felt as though they were on fire, although they stung like a bitch. All those years as a kid Alec had spent in submersion testing and endurance drills made it possible for him to stay on his feet and even keep talking, despite being exhausted. He planned to use what energy he had for all it was worth. 

"You wish," Logan was responding. Actually, he did. Not that he was going to say as much.

"Hey, there's no shame in conditional surrender," Alec lied. Knowing that if Lydecker had been around to hear him say that, he'd have given him a week's solitary. 

Logan snorted. "So why don't you 'fake it or something,' hmm?"

"You gonna give me half?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"Damn." Alec sighed, dodging his opponent's next punch.

"Okay, go. Team one...now." Through the comm. systems in their helmets, four of the agents assigned to secure the perimeter heard their commander's order and entered the building through the rear exit. Meanwhile, the commander entered through the front with two more agents. The bar's bouncers were big, but not stupid, and simply backed away when they saw that it was government officials storming their doors. Martine, the man Agent Walker had granted command of the mission, glanced towards the bar and saw an old man in a cheap suit making a bee-line for the manager's office. Ah...so his was one of the typical post-Pulse establishments. Illegal in probably ten different ways. Martine smirked and made a mental note to have a little...discussion...with the bar's proprietor after their mission was accomplished. Then he turned his attention back to more pressing matters. 

"Steinman, do you copy?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply over Martine's earpiece. Steinman and two others were waiting outside in one of the vans, ready for prisoner transport. "Let me know when Agent White's unit arrives," he told him.

"Yes, sir."

"Leary, Parsons, take position."

"Yes, sir."

"Team Two?"

"Awaiting your command, sir." 

Martine looked back as the two agents who'd accompanied him through the front took their places at that exit. He passed the bar and paused in a shadowy alcove just outside the crowded main area of the club. On all sides of the room, he knew, his men were moving in from the rear, forming a loose perimeter, and stopping those spectators who'd seen them from running or spreading word that something was about to go down with a meaningful look and a wave of their rifles. All the same, Martine knew they'd have to act fast before word spread anyhow and the building emptied altogether.

"Sir, the rear exit is secure," came the reassuring report. Martine nodded. "Both teams, prepare for my mark."

"Hey...wait a minute..."

It was only shortly after he and his opponent had stopped talking again that Logan realized something was very wrong, though he hadn't decided what. Something just felt...off. More off than the kid in the cage with him. Logan tried to force his fuzzy mind to concentrate on something outside his exhaustion, his pain, and the kid causing it, but whatever was bothering him remained just outside the edge of his senses. Someone, something in the crowd... Was it something he'd heard? Something he'd seen out the corner of his eye? Every time he made as if to look, Logan's opponent lunged, trying to take advantage of the moment.

Dinner be damned, if the hairs on the back of his neck weren't standing on end, Logan would have called the fight just then. But he didn't want to give away that he was onto something going on until he'd had the chance to look around and see _what_ was going on.

Nonetheless, the next time his opponent got a hit on him while he was trying to get a handle on the situation, Logan's patience snapped, and he found himself speaking before he could hold back. 

"Would you just stop already!" Then Logan realized how that must sound.

But the kid didn't smirk nearly as much as Logan might have expected. He looked nearer to kissing Logan for being the first to supposedly give up than he did to gloating. Logan took an involuntary step back.

"Well, it's about t..."

Then that strange something that had been nagging at Logan's senses peaked, just as the kid's words faded away and he caught sight of something over Logan's shoulder.

"Down!" the kid suddenly yelled. Instinctively, Logan followed his command, dropping to the mat, even as the kid moved at him with a speed to make his earlier footwork look sluggish. He pushed Logan down faster with a hand on his back. Before Logan could think to protest, the gunfire the kid had somehow anticipated began. Bullets flew over their head and hit the cage door directly behind where they'd been standing, ripping it off its hinges.

Over the screams of fleeing spectators all around, Logan could hear a voice from the back commanding someone or something to "move in."

Logan sighed into the dirty canvas of the mat on the cage floor.

Someone, somewhere, simply didn't want him to eat tonight. 


	4. 4

From One Cage to Another

by pari

[see first chapter for disclaimers, etc.]

A/N: Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

:::::::::::::

Up until the day he'd met Max, things in Alec's world had always had one way of progressing: smoothly. His missions had always gone well, his evaluations had always gotten him exemplary marks. His superiors had never given him any undue or unwelcome attention...

Except for in '09, of course. When the rogues had escaped, and Alec was thrown into Psy. Ops. for observation.

And in '13, when Manticore had found out that his "brother," Ben, was breaking people into pieces and ripping out their teeth. And Alec was thrown into Psy. Ops. _again_. Just in case.

And in '18, after Rachel...

Well. For the most part, up until he'd met Max, Alec's life had gone smoothly. And when it hadn't, Alec had found ways to help himself forget the rough spots. But out in the real world, those rough spots started coming a lot faster. They hit a lot harder. And their was no nifty, red beam of light waiting to wipe all his bad memories away.

By the time Alec found himself in a cage with some freakishly strong, might-not-be-an-Ordinary, he'd almost come to accept that certain scenarios would forevermore play out in certain ways, at least so far as he was concerned.

Low profile missions would go virtually public. High-dollar heists would go sideways. Cute little X6s would be _everywhere_. They would always need saving, they would _alway_s be stupid enough to look to him for salvation, and he would always let them down. 

White would always be waiting somewhere. Probably with another one of those popguns he'd embedded in Alec's brainstem the last time they'd tangled.

Good days would always end badly.

And bad days would end even worse.

Just as _this_ day was starting to look up, Alec's expectations became justified. He wasn't even half-way through thanking his opponent for inexplicably deciding to end their misery in Alec's favor, when Alec caught sight of some movement through the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure why the dark shape at the edge of his vision had caught his attention, or why he hadn't noticed anything developing around him before then, but Alec knew what a tac team looked like. And there was a tac team in the room with them.

Alec's senses heightened as he instantaneously went into battle-mode, his pupils expanding as he focused in on the soldier he'd spotted as he looked over his opponent's broad shoulder.

The soldier had a rifle. Naturally. And he was aiming it in Alec's direction.

"Down!" Alec yelled on reflex, blurring at the other man in the cage even as he dropped to the ground. Alec pushed him down faster, just as the soldier's bullets flew overhead, ripping the cage's door off its hinges. Alec's inhuman ears picked out the sound of a gruff voice speaking in the midst of all the screaming and fleeing going on around them.

"Move in! All teams move in. Steinmen, Yen, prepare transport."

Alec sighed into the dirty canvas of the mat on the cage floor. 

Sometimes Alec almost missed solitary.

When the bullets stopped, Alec turned to the man lying next to him. 

"Don't worry, buddy. They're after me," he said.

Surprisingly, the other man said almost exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.

Logan and Alec stared at one another.

"_You_?" they asked then, speaking simultaneously once more, and looking none too pleased about it. A second barrage of bullets overhead silenced anything else they might have said.

Alec looked back into the crowd. The soldiers closing in on them were nearing the cage as less and less spectators were left between them and their targets. 

"Oh," Alec told his fellow fugitive, blinking. "Okay. I'll give you boys a little time alone then." 

"Parsons!" Alec heard the voice from before scolding. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire, people. We want him alive." 

"Good luck." Alec patted the other man on the shoulder and leapt to his feet, then off of them. He grabbed hold of the chain link covering even the top of the cage, and began climbing across it towards the hole cut in its center for the announcer's microphone. 

::::

Logan took only a moment, after the man who'd been right next to him had leapt the entire _ten_ feet to the top of the cage, to shake his head and blink his eyes - as if trying to flush something out of them, something that was making him see things.

But he hadn't been mistaken.

Yes, that kid _was_ clinging to the underside of the top of the cage. And he was _crawling_ across it.

Then Logan remembered that he had worse problems than where his last cage opponent had hatched.

"You! Don't move!" said one of the black-clad soldiers slipping into the cage with him. Logan had just been in the process of rising to his feet, and paused on his hands and feet. He kept his head down, but looked up from under his lashes, concentrating totally on the five - no, six, seven - agents suddenly standing on the mat around him.

Only one of the soldiers retained his rifle. The others had now switched to some kind of projectile tazor.

Logan tensed. So the odds were five to one he'd get stunned, and shipped off to a lab, rather than shot dead in some shitty little fight club in Seattle - if he didn't manage to fight his way free of all of them. Since they were the only odds Logan was going to get, he supposed they weren't too bad.

"You sure I'm the one you're looking for, guys? I mean, my buddy up there is the one crawling across the fucking ceiling."

If the soldiers were disturbed by that, Logan wasn't paying enough attention to the expressions on their faces to see it.

"No talking!" what appeared to be the unit's team leader barked at him. "Hands on your head!"

"I don't think you..."

"Hands on your head!"

With a nod, two of the leader's team moved in on either side and behind Logan, tazors at the ready. Logan rose to his knees with a sigh.

'Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you,' he thought.

Logan slowly put both his hands behind his head. The soldiers so ordered lowered their tazors and brought out ties for Logan's wrists and ankles, moving as quickly as they could without stumbling over one another. The muscles in Logan's arms began to tense, his fingers twitched.

On one hand, Logan hated this part. It wasn't these soldiers' fault that no pathetic, may-as-well-have-been-plastic strap was gonna keep Logan from his freedom.

Then again...

One of the soldiers kicked Logan in the leg before kneeling behind him. In the background, their team leader was saying something into his mouthpiece.

"Feet together," the soldier ordered Logan. Logan smiled grimly.

Before either soldier could touch him, Logan moved. He aimed one fist at the soldier kneeling nearby and the other at the one leaning over him. The six-inch metal claws that had sprung from Logan's knuckles in the meantime caught the first soldier in the stomach, the second in the chest, slicing through fabric and flesh and muscle like air.

It all happened before any of the other soldiers could react. By the time their tazors began to fire, Logan had spun around and onto his feet, dragging the soldiers with him with his claws, and putting them between himself and their fellow officers. The charges of the soldiers' tazors hit the men and they shuddered violently, groaning as volts of electricity sizzled through them.

Logan hissed at the residual charge that traveled through the men and his claws to himself and pushed.

The soldiers went flying into three of their comrades as Logan ducked to avoid a blow from a fourth. The soldier was the one who'd kept his rifle, and was obviously about to disobey his orders to take Logan alive. After swinging at Logan with his weapon and missing, the soldier drew the rifle down and around so that the barrel was pointed at Logan's chest.

Logan lashed out with a steady kick, just as the soldier fired, and the rifle tilted up, its bullets missing Logan's head by half a foot. Something pricked at the skin of Logan's back and stung. Logan's body tremored momentarily, but Logan shrugged it off. Then he threw a second kick, this one at the soldier's abdomen, moved and grabbed the neck of the soldier's rifle, and used it to pull the soldier in close enough to be taken down with a punch.

The soldier's team leader had watched all of this with a mixture of horror and alarm.

As the soldier - Oran - had turned on their target with his rifle, Martine had gone for one of the tazors lying on the mat by his fallen men. One of the officers had been knocked unconscious when their target shoved the wounded members of her unit into her. One of the officers who'd been stabbed - Beager - was bleeding profusely, clutching at his torso as Leary tried unsuccessfully to help him staunch the flow of blood from his wound. The third officer lying on the mat was already dead.

Martine raised the tazor and set its charge as high as he possibly could. He shot at the target just as Oran opened fire - only to watch the man pause, tremble, and go on as if nothing had happened.

Martine grabbed his handgun as Oran fell, tossing the useless tazor to the side. A moment of indecision allowed the supposed transgenic in approach to take two steps before Martine got a shot off. He was torn between shooting his prey before it could incapacitate him the way it had his subordinates and/or escape (and suffering the wrath of his superiors for having done so) and taking his chances otherwise.

The moment of indecision passed as Martine heard Leary confirm that Beager was now dead, and fired. But the transgenic leapt quickly, and Martine's bullet lodged in his thigh. He kicked Martine in the head and the human went down.

Logan didn't linger over the unconscious soldier. He took off for the opening of the cage as the last soldier now standing pulled his own piece and followed.

:::: tbc ::::


End file.
